Remember to Forget
by lovethatmonk
Summary: Set in a 1984-esqe world, Alfred looks back on the things and people he is slowly forgetting.


Memories; he clutched to them so tightly it hurt. In fact it did hurt; it hurt Alfred that he had to hold onto his memories this way, in such pitiful desperation. Alfred F. Jones continued to search his brain for precious things he could hold onto. Last night he had discovered that he was starting to forget what his own mother looked like; it pained him terribly to realize this and to realize how he had let her down. The last words he'd heard from her echoed in his mind. "Keep me with you," she said, "and don't let my people fade away as I have." Alfred felt the lining of his jacket slowly tightening around his throat, threatening to choke him. He knew he could never forgive himself for the terrible things he had done as an easily persuaded and ignorant child. He hated himself for letting his mother's last wishes drift to the back of his mind unnoticed; and not only that but he pushed his past away from him, far away, to the coasts and barren land that no one wanted. Throughout the years, especially these past few, he wished he could take it all back.

Alfred then began to hate himself for all the other terrible things he had done in his life and he asked himself _Why? Why did you do that to those people?_ Thoughts of the atomic bombs rattled through his subconscious in a way that made him nauseous. He looked back upon himself and how much he had changed after Pearl Harbor. To himself, he was a monster, blinded by nothing but revenge. Alfred then laughed at himself, realizing just how sour revenge had begun to taste. _We the people of the United States..._ he chanted in his mind. Suddenly his mind fell silent and his eyes widened with a flash of fear. "Oh god..." he muttered under his breath. _We the people of the United States..._ That was as far as he could get, that was all he could remember. Alfred shut his eyes tightly, refusing to believe that he was loosing the only thing that gave him comfort, but he knew it was true...and he knew he'd slowly forget the rest of it. The United States... that would be the next thing to go. Alfred slowly opened his eyes and stared down at the floor. Where were his states, his family? A grim smile appeared on Alfred's lips as their faces flashed in his mind. No one expected such a small, stupid kid and his small band of what he considered to be his brothers and sisters to go so far, but they did. They showed the world that anything was possible and they continued to show the world.

His mind fell blank again as the small hint of a smile slowly began to fad away. Guilt again threatened to attack him once more, but for the first time in a while, he shoved guilt away and remained strong for a few minutes more. Slowly, more faces began to flash in his mind; random people throughout his history. The first was Babe Ruth, Alfred didn't quite understand why George's face chose to appear but he didn't question it. "Don't forget kid, heroes get remembered but legends never die." Alfred always found himself living by those great words of his. The next face to appear was Thomas Jefferson's, Alfred always felt like breaking into tears when he thought of this man, this important person from his childhood; Alfred considered it a great blessing that he still pictured him so well. He wished that more people could've had the same mentality that Jefferson did; he knew the world would've been a much better place then. Alfred wasn't prepared for what hit him next. Suddenly, his eyes hazed over as the image of a laughing, curly-haired blonde woman played like a newsreel in his head. In private, he always addressed her as Norma Jean, just as she wished everyone else would. Alfred felt his eyes burn as they began to water slightly while his mouth gaped and his bottom lip quivered. His heart always shattered when he thought of this poor woman and the great life she had and how quickly it was all taken away from her. He was proud that she always came to him for comfort, only he wished he could have given her more. Alfred always felt a sense of failure when he thought about Marilyn Monroe; he felt that he had failed to keep her happy or to keep her alive even. For a moment, the crime scene and her lifeless body flashed, just as all the familiar faces had, and vanished from his mind, leaving him with the same sickening feelings he had gotten before when he thought about the subject. He shook his head, trying to shake the tears from his eyes, and found that the image of the blonde bombshell had been shaken out as well.

Alfred let out a heavy sigh, embarrassed at the figure he'd become. None of those people were here now to fill him with legendary words of hope and optimism. He slowly began to wonder just how much longer his "American spirit" could hold him up and allow him to lift his head ever-so-slightly, proving that he could persevere through anything. But he knew it wouldn't last, he knew now that he was wrong... that he couldn't persevere through anything. Then he asked himself _Just who are you now, Alfred F. Jones? Who are you without your spirit?_ Only, the question went unanswered.


End file.
